The Crippled God

at yet another of his failures.

She came among us. A brave, brave woman. We all knew: her pride was ever her enemy. But see here, she came to us — imagine how doing that must have stung that pride. And yet, even over this powerful flaw within her, she finally triumphed.

What could be more heroic than that?

When at last he straightened — though in truth it was no more than thirty heartbeats since Krughava’s fall — all the voices fell away. He was the veteran. He was the one they would now turn to, desperate for guidance. Oh, all you fools. What to do? What to do now?

He cleared his throat. ‘I do not know what has happened here. I do not know if the Shield Anvil slew a young woman, or a god. Nor can I judge his reasons for doing so — this, this is beyond all of us.’

A young soldier called out, ‘Brother Syndecan! Do we fight this day?’

He’d been thinking about that, from the moment of Krughava’s fall, and he recalled looking across to the hacked corpse of Tanakalian, and thinking, you are only what we deserved. ‘Brothers, sisters, on this day, yes, we must fight!’

Silence answered him.

He had expected as much. They would not follow blindly — not any more. Not after this.

‘Brothers, sisters! There has been murder in our fold — we were witness to it! And in witnessing, we are made part of this crime. We must be cleansed. Today, we must fight to regain our honour!’

‘But who is the damned enemy?’

And here, the old veteran found himself at an impasse. Wolves help me, I don’t know. And I’m not the one to decide. Veteran, am I? Yes, but the only wise veterans are the ones who have left war and killing behind them. No, I’m just the biggest fool among you all. Oh, fine then! Time to fall back on useless superstition. Isn’t that what old soldiers turn to when all else fails? ‘Brothers, sisters! We must seek a sign! We must look to the world — here and on this day! We must-’

And then his eyes widened.

Faces turned. Eyes stared -

— as the Prince of Lether lunged into view atop the high berm at the fort’s facing wall. Surging up and on to the narrow, ragged edge — and how the horse found purchase there was a mystery. That beast then reared, hoofs scything the air, with the prince glaring down at them all. And at that moment, from either side of the valley’s length, came the sound of battle’s clash.

Gods take me! Think I just pissed my breeches.

Abrastal sat astride her charger — the beast felt thin beneath her, but was still quivering in anticipation. Bastard loves this — the stench of blood, the screams — wants at them. Gods, war is a fever! She glanced back at Spax and his mass of warriors. ‘Hold them, Warchief! Wait for it!’

The Gilk Barghast glared up at her. ‘But how long? Your damned soldiers are dying on that front — at least let us charge and take out one of the fortlets. Those onagers are carving you bloody!’

She knew that — she could see the terrible casualties those perfectly emplaced weapons were delivering as her legion struggled to overrun the first line of defences. ‘I said wait, Spax! I will need you and the Teblor to move fast when that Assail finds out-’

‘But what if it’s all gone wrong at the Spire? Firehair! We can collapse this flank — just let us loose, damn you!’

But something had caught her eye — she wheeled her mount round, stared towards the centre. ‘Jheckan’s fat cock! The Perish are pouring out of their trenches! Spax!’

‘I see them! Do you see Krughava?’

Abrastal shook her head. ‘They’re too far away — listen, form a line to hold our inside flank, Warchief. If I was commanding that position and saw it uncontested, I’d do precisely what they’re doing right now — out and into our unprotected sides.’

‘They’ll see us’ — Spax was now at her side, a heavy axe in his hand, a spear in the other, his face half hidden by his ornate shell helm — ‘and wheel round to bite the Letherii flank — Brys has no reserves to guard against them.’

‘If they do that,’ Abrastal said in a snarl, ‘you know what to do, Spax.’

‘Climb up their hairy asses, yes. But-’

‘Just ready your warriors,’ she cut in, and then jabbed her spurs into her mount’s sides. ‘I’m going for a closer look!’

‘Not too close!’

She pushed her horse into a canter, the beast’s armour cladding a weaponsmith’s clamour around her. When four bodyguards rode to join her she waved them back. She hated the fools. Worse than hens. But the one messenger who drew close she gestured forward.

Beyond the Perish, the Letherii army had locked jaws with the first line of defenders, but they too were being savaged by the Kolansii onagers. She saw that the prince had deployed his own artillery, and the rate of fire from these heavy weapons was superior to the enemy’s. At least three positions were concentrating fire on the nearest fortlet, and the raised redoubt was studded with heavy quarrels. Foot archers and skirmishers had advanced under the cover of that counterfire and were now assaulting the position.

The prince knew his business. But would it matter? Already the losses were appalling — and she knew her own Evertine soldiers were suffering the same behind her.

And now, these Perish … a part of her wanted to sink her teeth into the throat of the Grey Helms. For all that betrayal and treachery thrived in the court games of the Bolkando kingdom, out here it was a far deadlier indulgence. Maybe this is teaching me a lesson. About backstabbing, lying and cheating to get your way.

No, try as I might, I can’t swing it across. The palace is my world and I’ll run it the way I like.

Hoofs thundering, she was fast closing on the Perish — the soldiers were smoothly forming up now that they’d cleared the fort, and she saw them wheeling to face her. ‘You want us first, do you? Spax will be so pleased!’

But that wasn’t tactical — no, clearly they should have swung to face the Letherii. And as she drew yet closer, the front ranks before her made no effort to draw weapons. Can it be? Has Krughava won them over? Where is she? Where is Tanakalian? Errant’s nudge, who’s commanding this army?

Abrastal waved up the messenger. ‘Stay close, until we’re within earshot, and then halt yourself. I will ride on. Listen well to this parley, soldier — the lives of thousands may well count on it, should I fail to win clear.’

The young woman, selected for her riding ability, was pale beneath the rim of her helm, but she nodded.

‘Your eyes are better than mine — do you see a commander anywhere?’

‘Highness, there is one — with the grey face. He has been gesturing — sending out orders. There,’ and she pointed.

‘I see him. What’s with the face paint?’

‘He’s a cutter, Highness. A field medic.’

Whatever. ‘No matter. Looks as if he’s the one wanting to talk — I don’t like this. What has happened to Krughava?’

They slowed to a canter, and at the appropriate distance the messenger halted, whilst the queen trotted forward. She studied the cutter. An old man, at least in so far as these Grey Helms went. His face was well worn with tracks of sorrow and loss, and she saw nothing in that face to suggest that anything had changed in his outlook. Her unease deepened.

The cutter raised a hand in greeting. ‘Highness, the Grey Helms welcome you. I am Syndecan, elected commander following the tragic deaths of the Mortal Sword and the Shield Anvil.’

Abrastal felt her jaws clench. The words had struck like a blow to her chest. Leave it, woman. Now is not the time. ‘You are arrayed. State your intentions, Syndecan — as you can see, we’ve got us a fight here and I really cannot waste any more time while you decide which way the fucking wind’s blowing.’

The man recoiled as if slapped, and then he drew a deep breath and slowly straightened. ‘The Perish Grey Helms humbly place themselves under the command of you and Prince Brys.’ He made a faint gesture to the troops